


You're A Superstar

by BlackWave



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gen, M/M, idek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackWave/pseuds/BlackWave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For <a href="http://1dkinkmeme.livejournal.com/648.html?thread=963464#t963464">this</a> kink meme prompt.</p><p>Penniless and bored in Paris, the boys head to a gay bar to see who can get the most drinks bought for them. Some are more successful than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're A Superstar

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for excessive use of parentheses and gratuitous mention of artificial facial hair.
> 
> Genuine warning for non-consensual groping/unwanted attention in bathrooms.
> 
>    
> Title from _Gay Bar_ by Electric Six because I'm subtle like that.

After the incident with the bowling balls, Paul tells them point blank (he needs a holiday, his nerves are shot to hell) that there's to be no leaving the hotel this time around - "under any circumstances" mocks Louis, flinging himself dramatically onto the bed Harry's tucked up in. The five of them are sprawled out in Niall and Liam's room. After just forty eight hours in Paris Louis and Harry's is 'no longer fit for entertaining guests' (Louis' words) and Zayn refuses point blank to let 'those two' into his hard fought-for single. 

Harry looks up from his phone with raised eyebrows. "What exactly were you planning on doing anyway? We've got no money, no cards-"

"Yeah, and whose fault is that?" Zayn interrupts from across the room, slouched casually in an armchair, book in hand. ("Reading?" Niall had questioned dubiously when he'd opened the door to let Zayn in. "Reading?" Louis had cackled when he'd spotted it. "Looking for new metaphors to tweet?") "If you two weren't such idiots..."

Louis rolls his eyes and leaps to his feet on the bed, causing the mattress and Harry with it to wobble. Coughing for dramatic effect, and to get Liam's attention ("I'm listening, I'm texting Danielle!"), Louis announces: "I've got an idea". 

Liam groans silently from his spot on the floor (Louis has never _ever_ had a _good_ idea), but Zayn raises an eyebrow curiously and on the other bed Niall rolls over onto his back, looking up at Louis with mild interest. 

"We've got no money, but we don't _need_ money. We're in a band! And we also happen to be five very attractive young lads-"

(Zayn can see where this is going) "-You want us to sponge off other people?"

"Zayn, sharp as a _tack_. Ten points to Slytherin." Zayn huffs, but looks slightly pleased nonetheless. "Zayn's correct. Tonight our entertainment will come courtesy of the good and philanthropic people of Paris." Louis points imperiously at Harry. "Google maps the nearest bar." 

Harry sticks his tongue out at him but obediently starts tapping at his phone. 

"Bar?" says Liam, still hunched over, typing. (Have fun explaining that one to Paul, he thinks.) "We've got a signing tomorrow morning."

Louis opens his mouth to answer but is (permanently) distracted by Harry.

"There's a whole bunch," he says, offering the phone up to Louis, who chooses to pounce on Harry and wrest it from him instead. Louis flips through the list (the names are nonsensical, he loves google translate) before settling on..."Gay bar!"

Liam sighs and tucks his phone away, deciding now's the time to intervene because Louis actually looks like he might be serious. Zayn beats him to it.

"Fuck off. You've got a girlfriend. So does Liam."

"Zayn, Zayn, Zayn. You don't have to be gay to visit a gay bar. ("I _know_ that" says Zayn, rolling his eyes viciously at Louis.) And Eleanor and Danielle won't mind once we explain about the competition."

"What competition?" asks Harry-the-accomplice. 

"I'm glad you asked, Harold." Louis nods approvingly. "The seeing-who-can-get-the-most-drinks-bought-for-them-by-presumably-gay-men competition, of course."

"Of course," agrees Zayn, deadpan. 

Louis looks over at Niall. (On his back again, staring at the ceiling. Louis wonders if he's been listening at all.) 

"Nialler?"

Niall tears his eyes away and they wander over to Louis' face. 

"What?" 

"Up for going to a gay bar?"

Niall laughs, shrugs and struggles up onto his elbows. "Sure, why not man?"

Liam can see where this is going. Harry was in the minute Louis suggested it, and now that Niall's agreed Zayn won't say no, doesn't want to look boring, to be left out. (Liam's not _that_ sensible, he's just surrounded by four people with absolutely no impulse control. He has to compensate. Sometimes he thinks it's not fair.)

(He'll be the anticipated voice of reason) "Louis. We are _not_ going to a gay bar, in a country where none of us speak the language, when we've been told _explicitly_ not to leave-" 

(Louis smiles brightly and thinks of Harry's curls, letting the words roll away.)

  


*

The bar ("Gay bar," Louis corrects any time one of the others uses the word) is only a short walk away, and after putting on sunglasses and sticking false mustaches to each other's faces (Louis insists, and none of them really object) they head out, sneaking cautiously down the halls in case Paul or Preston are about. (Harry suggests using the fire escape but Zayn didn't change his shirt just to wreck it crawling through a window, thanks very much.)

They make it without encountering any resistance and once out on the street Louis whoops loudly in triumph. It's a cold night (no stars though, Niall notes) and they start walking, jostling each other all the way down the street.

Twenty minutes and only two wrong turns later they're waved inside dismissively by the bored looking guy on the door. Liam peels off his mustache ("Your third eyebrow," says Niall) and tucks it carefully into his pocket. Harry and Louis are nursing their faces, having opted to remove their mustaches from each other with a level of care usually reserved for bowling alleys and boats, and he collects theirs too. Niall and Zayn keep theirs on ("It makes me look distinguished" says Zayn) and together they wander further inside.

It's a disappointingly classy place, thinks Louis, who had almost been hoping for something a little seedier (more exciting). It's busy though, and loud, with (mostly) guys swarming around the bar waiting for drinks and a sizable crowd thrashing enthusiastically on the dance floor.

Louis heads straight for the bar, shoes sticking to the floor as he pushes through the swaying crowd. Harry grins at the others and gives a small wave before diving after him. 

By the time Harry reaches the bar (he's stopped and asked to dance - at least, that what he _assumes_ he's asked, it's loud and his French is terrible - twice, and _oh_ this is going to be _easy_ ) Louis is perched on a stool, clutching a glass and nodding along as a man in a leather jacket (awful haircut) talks and gesticulates wildly. Louis spots Harry over the guy's shoulder and leers, points at his glass (maybe not that easy after all). 

Harry sticks his tongue out, feels a hand on his shoulder and turns. The guy (reaaaaally tall, taller than Harry) smiles hopefully at him, leans in and shouts something that Harry doesn't understand. 

"Sorry, I don't speak French." He shrugs apologetically and the guy's face lights up in understanding. He mimes slow-dancing, lots of hip action, and Harry laughs, looks over at Louis. 

"...How about you buy me a drink first?" 

Game on. 

It turns out he's hit on a winning formula ( _Dragon's Den_ he thinks, forgets why he thought it). Dances-for-drinks _works_ and hour later he's well on his way to tipsy (and hey, his dancing is getting _better_!). The language thing isn't even a problem anymore (why don't people just mime all the time?) and he nods when his current partner gestures at the bar and raises his shoulders questioningly. Louis isn't at the bar anymore. Harry lost track of him a while ago, hasn't seen the others since they split up. He should go and find Louis, he thinks, after this drink. He needs to show him how much his hip thrust has improved.

  


*

As soon as they're inside Louis heads straight for the bar, and Harry (predictable Harry) follows.

"Don't get drunk! We've got a signing tomorrow!" shouts Liam, but they've both disappeared. He sighs (it's going to be a long night). "I'm going to see if there's anywhere to sit. You two stay here!" He heads towards the area on the other side of the bar and is swallowed up by the crowd. 

"Well, I guess it's just you and me," says Zayn. He turns to look at Niall, but there's only empty space where Niall should be. 

Zayn stands there a little awkwardly for a moment before deciding to try and find Liam. He can feel eyes on him (this is a good shirt, and he thinks the mustache is helping) as he moves through the room. 

The (much quieter, thankfully) other side of the bar is filled with couches and tables, all littered with drinks and people. 

"Hey." Liam's beside Zayn again, pulling at his sleeve, guiding him towards a table. He pauses (something's missing). "Where did Niall go?"

Zayn shrugs and Liam opens his mouth like he's about scold him but pauses, stares across the room. Zayn follows his line of sight and spots Niall on one of the couches, firmly ensconced in the lap of a (not unattractive, he admits) older man, clutching a beer bottle and giggling at whatever his new companion's whispering into his ear. Liam closes his mouth and purses his lips (that guy must be in his _thirties_ ) but Niall and his new best friend seem to be having fun (Niall's falling off the man's lap, they're both wheezing with laughter) so he turns away, tugs Zayn down onto the couch.

They're joined almost immediately by two guys who start chattering in French. Liam shakes his head. "Sorry, we're English."

The taller one smiles easily. "No problem." His friends scoffs and he grins. "I am Gaston (Zayn bites his lip. because _seriously?_ ), this is Luc. For him, it's a problem."

Luc glares and Liam shoots him a sympathetic smile. 

"We will buy you drinks?"

Zayn goes with Gaston to get the drinks, asks for a beer for himself and lemonade for Liam. 

"You are here on holiday together?" asks Gaston while they're waiting. It's not _way_ off so Zayn decides to go with it, nods agreeably. 

"Yep, us and a few mates." Zayn can't help but notice the way Gaston brightens at that last part. He's a good looking guy (not as good looking as me, Zayn thinks, winces), great hair, and Zayn brushes up against him, smiles as they collect their drinks.

As soon as they get back to their table Liam pushes himself up off the couch, mutters, "Bathroom" and steps past Zayn. Luc hovers uncertainly for a few moments before deciding third wheeling's not for him and wandering away with a shrug. 

The following minute is uncomfortable, both of them sipping their drinks and playing with their watches, but then Gaston mentions the Manchester v Fulham match that was on a couple of days ago (Zayn has never loved football, the great, beautiful unifier, quite so much) and after that things are easy. It's not the most riveting conversation he's ever had though, so When Gaston asks, with a wink, whether he'd like to step out for a cigarette Zayn agrees readily. 

Opportunities to make out with Gastons don't come by all that often. 

(Three months later they're interviewed for a French radio show and when the inevitable 'have-you-ever-kissed-a-French-girl' question gets asked, Zayn answers "No, but I have frenched a Frenchman while wearing a false mustache," and everyone laughs - except for Paul, who facepalms and mouths quiet words of despair, and Liam, who laughs but looks curiously at Zayn.)

  


*

Liam's feeling more stressed than anything and he half hopes that Zayn's ordered him something alcoholic (but no, he needs to stay alert if he's to get everyone back to the hotel alive and intact. Better safe than sorry with the kidney, too). He's trying not to look at Niall because it makes his anxiety triple (he's a little jealous too. Things seem so _easy_ for Niall, sometimes) and he's trying not to look at the French guy (Luke? Luc seems more likely, a name he remembers from textbooks) because it's just so awkward, which is difficult because _he_ seems to be looking exclusively at Liam.

Neither of them say anything (for the first time in his life Liam regrets not paying more attention in French lessons) and Liam's worried that getting his phone out will seem rude, so they sit in painful silence.

A minute later and he's desperately craning his neck to see if Zayn's coming back when Luc moves to sit beside him (Liam feels the couch dip, gives Luc a strained smile and goes back to scanning the room). He finally spots Zayn weaving in the direction of their table, holding two drinks aloft (and _oh no_ , smiling at Gaston). Liam's trying to remember whether Zayn's previously expressed a love for Beauty and the Beast when he feels a hand slide up his thigh. His thoughts grind to a halt and he stares, open-mouthed at Luc, who smiles back encouragingly.

Liam's jolted out of his shock by Zayn setting a couple of glasses down on the table, and he leaps to his feet, dislodging Luc's hand. 

"I'm going to the bathroom," he says.

He doesn't actually go to the bathroom. He goes outside (the bouncer smirks at him a little, but otherwise doesn't seem to have a problem with Liam hanging around), texts Danielle until it gets too late (she's got rehearsals in the morning) and then he uses google to try and learn a few phrases in French. ('My friend is intoxicated', 'Excuse me, where is the nearest hospital?' and 'We will pay for all the damages', because Liam is a realist.)

When he can't justify sitting alone any longer he heads back inside. Zayn's not where Liam left him, Niall's _exactly_ where Liam last saw him and he's yet to spot either Harry or Louis. It's while he's searching that he bumps into a harassed-looking employee carrying a bucket and cloth. Some of the liquid sloshes onto Liam's hand (it's a weird shade of blue and the smell isn't entirely unpleasant) and the barman starts to apologise but Liam waves him off and heads for the bathroom. 

He's focused on washing his hands when Luc appears behind him in the mirror, blows gently onto Liam's ear. 

"Er-" says Liam (what's happening here?) "What are you doing?"

Luc spins him around and pulls him close to his chest and Liam thinks that he's ok with this (his hands are wet and soapy), it's just weird bathroom hugging (with a stranger). Luc's hands move down the small of Liam's back and he stiffens, tries to pull away.

"Er, Luc, I have a girlfriend. And it's pretty serious, actually, so-" 

But Luc can't speak English and his hands make their way into Liam's back pockets (he hopes no one comes in, _please_ ) and come to rest against his bum through the material.

Liam's mortified and so surprised that he doesn't know what to do, stands stock still while Luc starts mouthing experimentally against his neck. Luc wiggles his left hand ( _Oh God_ ) before sliding it back out of Liam's pocket (thank you, Jesus). 

There are two limp somethings lying across his palm, a third stuck to his index finger. Luc slides his other hand out (Liam breathes) and pokes at the somethings with obvious bafflement. Liam can pinpoint the moment he figures out what they are because he looks at Liam, deeply disturbed, and shakes his head before turning and gliding towards the door. He deposits the offending items on top of the hand drier and he's gone. 

Apparently Luc draws the line at getting off with a guy who carries used false mustaches around with him on nights out. (It actually seems like a decent policy.) 

Liam rinses his hands ands dries them on his jeans (it's fine, no-one saw anything).

"Lee-yum" 

The door of the disabled stall swings open to reveal Louis and a second figure, slumped over so that his (?) face isn't visible. "Getting off with strange men in public toilets are we now, Liam?"

Liam flushes a deep red. "Shut up. I could say the same for you."

"How dare you! Curly's not a stranger!" Louis pauses, reevaluates. "Well, I suppose he might be _now_ , considering he's lost all sense of self-identity. He's really wasted, you're going to have to help me with him."

Liam groans, motions for Louis to budge up and make room.

  


*

Louis spots his mark the minute he gets to the bar. He's not a bad looking man (dreadful hair though) and he's alone, and that's all Louis needs. He flops onto the empty stool next to his mark and smiles brightly.

"Buy me a drink?" he beams.

Of course the guy _does_ buy him a drink (whiskey, which Louis likes when he's pretending to be a grown up) and then he starts talking. And talking. He speaks perfect English but he's so _bland_. (Maybe it's Louis' fault, he gets bored of people quickly. Or _maybe_ this man's like the frog from those Rosie and Jim books - he can still read them, he's got sisters - sucking all the colour from the world.) Through the throng at the bar he sees Harry _stick his tongue out at him_ and immediately tries to look like the guy he's talking to isn't slowly destroying Louis' soul with his drab words.

Harry's not going to beat him at his own game. 

By the time he manages to ditch the boring guy (by saying he needs the loo and never coming back) he's lost track of Harry. He doesn't want to go back to the bar just yet, so instead he decides he'll do some recon, see what the competition are up to (and make sure everyone's ok and having at least a bit of fun). 

Apparently Louis' spy skills are more lacking than he thought though, because the only person he catches sight of is Niall, sitting with a group of older men like he's trying to make Louis go prematurely grey. He thinks he sees Zayn stepping out the back with a tall guy with what Zayn would probably call aspirational hair (Louis would call it stupid hair) but he doesn't have time to investigate further because boring guy is suddenly heading in his direction. He hasn't spotted Louis (yet) so Louis does what any decent spy would do and ducks behind the bar.

Behind the bar is actually fairly spacious but he's crouched on the floor and there's still the danger of getting kicked or - even worse - of getting drinks in his hair, so he slithers, Bond-style, towards the trap door. Which is open. Excellent.

Blame it on the drinks Louis has already consumed, but it's not until he's in the cellar and face to face with a bemused bartender that it occurs to him what an open cellar door behind a bar signifies in terms of cellar occupancy.

"...Bonjour," says Louis. His accent is horrible.

"Bonsoir" says the bartender, and the amusement in his voice gives Louis hope that maybe he won't get into too much trouble for this.

"...parlez-vous Anglais?" 

"Yes, I do."

"Oh Good. I'm your new bartender!" Louis can see the skepticism written across the real bartender's face, so he decides to step it up a notch. "I was coming down here to...do things. To the wine."

Louis admires his own bluffing skills during the pause that follows.

"We aren't expecting any new staff. And why would we hire a bartender who doesn't speak French?" the actual bartender asks, but his eyes are sparkling and he clearly finds the whole thing hilarious.

"Erm...people tell me I have a nice bum?"

"Which the customers can't see if you are behind the bar." The real bartender walks over and slaps Louis' arse lightly. "It is lovely though," he says with a wink, and Louis cackles. (He likes this guy.)

"You can stay and help serve drinks. I will tell the others you are my cousin Pierre. You do not speak French because you were too stupid and lazy to learn." (Or maybe he doesn't.)

The bartender introduces himself as Arnaud, fetches Louis a spare shirt and bow tie and then gets Louis to stand behind him and basically hand him things while he deals with the actual orders and the making of the drinks. (He does let Louis shake the cocktail shaker though, which Louis does with great glee until he sees some of the other bar staff looking at him with a sort of indulgent fondness.)

(The best thing about being behind the bar, Louis muses as he sips a fruity concoction made for him by Arnaud, is the drinks. He should have made this a 'how-many-free-drinks-can-you-obtain?' competition, because then he definitely would have won. He pours himself a commiseratory shot of vodka and thinks _next time_.)

He's feeling a bit tipsy when Arnaud beckons him back down to the cellar. 

"What do you need me to carry up?"

"In a minute," says Arnaud and then he's pushing Louis back against the crates and boxes and licking his way into Louis' mouth. 

Louis grabs at Arnaud's side through his shirt, pulling him close, and tangles a hand in his hair, feeling a soft _oh_ of disappointment when he realises _no curls_.

There are feet on the stairs and Arnaud pulls away, kissing the corner of Louis' mouth.

One of the other bartenders is standing wide-eyed on the stairs. He says something to Arnaud, which judging by how shocked and slightly turned on he sounds, Louis would guess is along the lines of _'Why are you kissing your (hot) cousin in the cellar?'_

Louis makes a mental note to google translate it. (He doesn't remember until a few weeks later, and when Zayn looks over his shoulder and asks, "But why would you want to know how to say _that_??" he goes beet red.)

Arnaud and the other guy talk a bit longer and then the other guy goes back upstairs. Arnaud sighs. "Someone has been sick on the dance floor. I have to take care of it."

Somehow Louis knows that Harry is the someone.

  


*

Louis disappears, and Harry (through force of habit) follows. Liam mutters something about sitting down (smart move, Niall thinks, to keep Zayn away from the dance floor) and then he's gone too. It's a nice place, shiny wood and low lighting and another area behind the bar filled with comfortable looking (high rate of occupancy) couches.

Niall hovers for a split second, but this is a competition and one he knows he can win. He's got game. 

It's difficult over all the noise, but he picks up the faint strains of accented English. (This'll be a lot easier without the language barrier.) Three guys are sitting spread across two of the couches. The two sitting together have something going on, if hands on knees and at the napes of necks are anything to go by (they aren't, not necessarily, or he'd be in a five-way relationship right now), leaving the (handsome-ish) third guy sitting alone, which is sort of perfect, actually. 

He flops down next to the single guy and fills the pause in conversation with a sunny beam.

"Hi, I'm Niall."

The two sitting opposite him look slightly bemused but the single guy laughs and holds out a hand. "Benoît," he says. His hand is warm and heavy where it wraps around Niall's. 

"I'm Jack, this is Tomas." Jack gives him a small wave and Tomas smiles, inclines his head. 

"You're from New Zealand!"

"I'm going to buy you a drink for that. You're the first person in about six months to get that right."

It turns out that Tomas is Belgian, though Niall doesn't guess that, and that they all used to work together and that Tomas and Jack _still_ work together.

"It's very exciting, sometimes we sneak off to the stationary cupboard to get post-it notes and end up doing entirely different things." 

"It's not exciting, it's not against any rules. And it annoys his PA because she feels like getting post-its is _her_ job." 

(Niall sort of wants a workplace romance.) 

"Eh-herm"

Niall turns to find a guy standing behind him, four drinks squashed together in his hands. He looks slightly miffed.

"Oh - Niall, Étienne; Étienne, Niall"

"Sorry, I didn't think anyone was sitting -" He's cut off by surprise hands on his waist and then he's being pulled onto Benoît's lap, leaving space for Étienne.

"You don't mind, do you?" Benoît breathes into Niall's ear. (Well. Why would he?) 

Étienne soon abandons them in favour of hitting the dance floor, donating his drink to Niall (it definitely still counts). Niall makes a joke about an Irishman, Frenchman, New-Zealander and Belgian walking into a bar but starts giggling hysterically before he can finish it. ("You fucking loser," says Jack, before he starts laughing too.) Jack buys him the drink he promised (he doesn't let him choose though, just gets him raspberry beer and Niall rolls his eyes but it's actually sort of delicious) and they talk about music a bit and he's chosen his company well because they all like Sinatra and Dean Martin. 

Once they've finished their drinks Tomas and Jack grab a newly abandoned couch and proceed to engage in some serious snogging and then it's just the two of them. Niall's comfy like this though, so he stays sitting in Benoît's lap. He drinks more (beer, sometimes vodka lemonade), at one point whispers, "by the way, I'm not a migrant fruit picker, I'm in a boy band" and Benoît shakes with silent laughter.

They talk about stupid tour pranks ("We weren't sure it would grow back") and stupid work pranks ("They couldn't fire me because I'm the boss, but I did get four formal complaints") and Benoît says "I like it when you laugh," so Niall keeps doing it.

He's had a lot to drink and it's really late and he's sleepy, and there are fingers moving through his hair as he leans against Benoît's chest. He opens eyes he didn't know were closed when he hears footsteps stopping next to them.

"I'm going to go home. Some kid just threw up all over my shoes," says Étienne, and Niall sits up, wide awake. 

He hopes this doesn't mean Harry's won.

  


*

Harry gets easily sidetracked when he's drunk (is he drunk? a bit) so going to find Louis turns into having another drink or two and looking sadly at Frenchmen as they try and talk to him.

He gets tired of dancing so he stops, but everything's still spinning even though he's like 90% sure he's not moving anymore. (He needs some air.)

Outside the sky is black and the cold hits him almost as hard as the fact that Zayn's pressed up against the wall with some well-endowed-in-the-hair-department guy's tongue in his mouth.

Harry backs up slowly and once inside keeps moving backwards until he bumps into someone. The man smiles and opens his mouth and Harry leans forward and throws up all over his shoes.

  


*

Harry's lying on the floor next to a puddle a vomit and the sight almost gives Louis a heart attack.

"Harry?!" He kneels and starts shaking his shoulders. Harry moans dramatically.

"G'way Lou's"

"Come on Harry, you can't lie here. Let's sit you up, yeah?"

He sticks his hands under Harry's arms, maneuvers him upright while Harry flops and groans and is generally unhelpful. 

"You shouldn't have drunk so much, idiot. You made yourself sick."

"His hair was so tall. _It_ made me sick." (Louis is secretly fond of drunk Harry.)

Talking about vomit is apparently the wrong thing to do, because Harry claps a hand to his mouth.

"Are you going to throw up again?" 

Frantic nodding. (The fondness diminishes quite a bit.)

Louis sighs. "Come on, up," he says, hoisting Harry to his feet. They stagger to the bathroom, Harry's uncoordinated weight and Louis' not-entirely-sober state slightly impeding their navigation, and Harry beelines for the toilet, emptying the (mostly liquid) contents of his stomach (an intriguing shade of blue, which leads Louis to wonder what he's been drinking). 

He slides to the floor and hugs the bowl, making pathetic whimpering noises which have Louis scrunching his face up in pity, despite the fact that this is squarely Harry's own fault. (Louis might be a _tiny_ bit to blame, he concedes. Still, none of the others are this smashed. He hopes.) He closes the stall door and sinks down next to Harry. They sit there in silence, punctuated by the occasional heave, Louis playing with Harry's hair and rubbing (hopefully) soothing circles across his back. 

It's a little while later that someone comes in. Louis is perfectly happy to ignore whatever's happening outside the cubicle until he hears Liam's voice, at which point he presses himself further into the floor to peek under the stall door. (Oh, this is _too_ good.) 

Liam's never going to hear the end of this.

  


*

There's not really much he can do for Harry. Louis seems to think he's mostly finished throwing up, and it's getting late (or early, depending on how you look at it, and Liam's mind _recoils_ at the thought of doing a four hour signing after tonight). He thinks it's about time to head back to the hotel.

"Have you seen any of the others?"

"Saw Zayn, I think, but that was a while ago. Did you see Niall?" Louis looks away from Harry and up at Liam. 

"Mm," says Liam, noncommittally. 

"Well, he's probably still with that guy, d'you want to go and get him?" Liam would really rather not, and luckily he doesn't have to because just then Niall walks into the bathroom.

"Heyyy, I thought you might be in here."

"Speak of the devil, and the devil he doth appear," says Louis. 

"Is Harry ok?" Niall asks, peering around Louis at the object of his inquiry, who raises a shaky hand in greeting.

"He'll be alright. Have you seen Zayn, Nialler?"

"Ah, no, I haven't seen anyone. Is it home time? I'll text him, yeah?" Niall types out a quick (probably horribly garbled, but Liam's not really in any position to judge) message then sits down in the middle of the room. 

Zayn, when he appears a couple of minutes later, looks strangely pleased. "Alright, Niall said we're heading back? Is Harry ok?"

"No. I'm dying."

  


*

Liam calls them a cab, even though it'll mean waking Paul up and getting him to pay the fare.

"Hang on," says Niall, and he disappears, comes back five minutes later waving a twenty euro note.

"That was a very efficient blow job Niall, well done," says Louis. "Twenty euros though, you're selling yourself short." 

Niall opens his mouth, closes it and settles for flipping Louis off. 

The ride back takes less than ten minutes, and then they're hustling Harry past the mystified man at reception. Security and as many of the crew as would fit are all staying on the same floor, making the journey back to Niall and Liam's room a tense affair. Louis and Niall look a bit fuzzy still and Zayn's got a hand over Harry's mouth to stop his loud whispers of "We've got to be _quiet_ , guys", makes small _urgh_ s of disgust whenever Harry licks against his palm. 

It's a huge relief when they tumble into the room and Liam can close the door behind them. 

Zayn promptly deposits Harry on one of the beds and Harry hunkers down, shoves his face into a pillow. Liam's too tired to even bother with brushing his teeth, just rinses his mouth out in the bathroom before flopping onto his own bed and closing his eyes. He listens to the others moving around the room, the hiss of water from the bathroom taps and the flick of light switches.

He feels the bed dip behind him, hears Zayn's whispered "Hey". 

He opens his eyes when a few minutes later a weight settles on his other side. The lights are off and Niall smiles down at him.

"Budge up, I'm not sleeping with vomit face."

Liam shifts to make room, props himself up to peer through the gloom at the other bed, where Harry looks to be almost asleep and Louis looks to be displeased with the sleeping arrangements (karma). 

He's on the verge of falling asleep himself when Harry says, "So who won?" 

Louis's up like a shot. "I knew there was a reason I didn't make you sleep on the floor, Harold."

Liam groans internally (Zayn groans out loud) because while he _is_ sort of curious as to what they all got up to, he'd rather have this conversation in the morning, after a couple of hours of sleep and a bucket full of coffee. But there's no stopping Louis and now Niall's cracked an eye open, watching the occupants of the other bed.

"I'm the drunkest. Am I?"

"Shut up, Harry. You don't win just because you're a lightweight."

"Fuck you, Lou. I drank a _lot_."

Zayn rolls over, too curious to resist joining in. "Oh yeah? How much?"

"I don't remember."

"Ha!" says Louis, "Disqualified!"

" _Fuck. You._ Also Goodnight," says Harry, apparently deciding to bow out of the conversation ( _quit while you're ahead_ , he thinks vaguely to himself. _At least this time you didn't throw up on your own shoes._ In his heart, Harry's a winner.) 

"Liam?"

"Um, one?" 

"Ah well, you have other talents. Zayn!"

"Three," says Zayn, looking at Liam almost apologetically. 

"Poor show, Zayn. At least Liam has the excuse of not drinking and so remaining a massively awkward human being. _You_ had alcoholic social aids."

"Yeah, well, at least I didn't have so many of them that I threw up all over the place."

It's not even a jab at Louis, and it's Liam's turn to smile pityingly at Zayn. Harry (apparently not asleep and still listening) waves his middle finger in what Liam supposes he thinks is Zayn's general direction (what is actually the direction of the ceiling).

Liam doesn't really want to bring up what happened in the bathroom (Louis promised not to say anything, which means everyone will know in less than twenty four hours), but he feels bad about ditching Zayn so he asks, "what did you do after I left?"

Zayn hums and haws, says "Nothing really" (that's between him and the marks on his neck. And Gaston and his glorious head of hair. And possibly whoever watches the tape from the cctv cameras outside the club) and goes a bit pink, so Liam doesn't push it.

"Nialler?"

Niall's been quiet this whole time, watching them with sleepy eyes.

"Dunno, eight maybe." His smile is too pleased and lazy to be about drinks and Liam is suddenly slightly angry. 

"You hung out with the same guy all night Niall! It doesn't count."

"He was nice!" Niall protests. (He _was_ nice. He gave Niall cab money no questions asked and typed his number into Niall's phone, told him to call if he ever had enough of being a popstar and wanted to live free and easy in a mansion in the south of France.) Liam thinks about the way the man's hands had hovered around Niall's elbows and waist and shakes his head to clear the bloom of dislike.

"Go on then, how did you do, you smug bastard?" asks Zayn, wiggling a foot at Louis.

"Drumroll please!" (There's silence except for Harry's flat "No," and Louis rolls his eyes.)

"By volume I'd estimate eight or nine."

"By _volume_?"

"Yeah, well, it's difficult to say because most of them weren't out of glasses."

Liam doesn't even want to know. 

"Great, you win. Can we all go to sleep now?"

Zayn flops back down and Liam presses himself closer to Niall. For a few seconds there's nothing but the sound of breathing.

"I feel like we should have decided on a prize," Louis says into the silence. "I suppose we'll know for next time."

 _Over my dead body_ is Liam's last thought as he drops off to sleep.


End file.
